This is where I start to get uncomfortable

I'm at the park with the kids yesterday afternoon and while the girls are taking turns pushing the baby in the swing, I decide to check in on Twitter. Yes, I am that person. The woman with her Crackberry permanently attached to her hand. Anyway, I'm reading tweets and something someone had said cracked me up and I laughed out loud.

Twitter or Facebook, this woman near me asks. I turn and notice this woman, who I hadn't even realized had sat down. Twitter I said, without thinking. But I use Facebook too.

Oh what's your Twitter name? I can follow you.

Uh, it's protected I said. We're from California and I use it to keep in touch with friends out there. Oh, okay was her answer. Then Harrison called out to me and I got up and walked away.

I lied. To a random stranger. She looked nice. She had kids. She was at the park in my neighborhood. I still lied to her.

Why?

Well that is a hard one. I am going to be dead honest here. I don't ever intend on telling my family or friends about this blog. (Yes my husband knows, but he wishes he didn't. He probably wishes what I said to her were true, that you all were old friends from California.) I don't use Facebook for realz. I mean, yes I have one. But not one that my family could find. Twitter? well the same thing there, although a few people know that I use it, but none of them seem interested in it at all. People like my mother for example could care less what Twitter is, although I have explained it to her.

I can't make friends with people in my area through blogging or Twitter and think I can keep it quiet. Or separate. My children have the biggest mouths in the world. I don't fault her at all, but Morgan is the one who mentioned my previous blog to my aunt, which caused HUGE family drama, because I was too open, too honest and she still won't speak to me.

My blog life, my online life, is separate from my life in many, many ways. I tried it the other way and it blew up in my face. People, my own step-mother won't speak to me because of it. Unless I am standing in front of her, I don't exist. My own father won't talk to me more than once a month because of it. (Well that and they are both asses.) Iit's been a few years. I don't have much family on that side and almost none of them really speak to me anymore because of the secrets they believe I shared with the world. They aren't wrong, I did. I said things I shouldn't have, because I believed I was safe. But hi, when you use your children's real names and they are not very common names, you are easy to find.

This is me. This space is my place to be me. I don't lie here. I've told you all straight out that my family and blog life are separate. This is where I can be brutally honest. More honest and open than I am in real life, I'll tell you that right now. This is where I say, I am struggling right now to maintain. I am struggling with my depression right now. I am unhappy right now. I am sad. My heart hurts.

I can say this all here and much more, because this is my space. My space to be me, without repercussions from my friends and family. Logan does not read this blog. He has asked that I not discuss his personal life too much, but I could and he wouldn't even know it. He has left this as my deal.

But now I'm going to a conference. A conference with what like 1000 other bloggers? I am starting to wonder why I am doing this. Why I want to meet you all as much as I do, when I will come home and pretend I was elsewhere. Until the Keynote thing, I thought it would be okay. I can remain anonymous if I am 1 of a 1000. It's harder to remain anonymous when you are on a keynote with 15 other bloggers. I don't have the answers. I am going to go to the conference, read my post and have a blast. But I don't know what happens when I get back and it scares me.

Is that okay? Does it bother you guys? Are you okay with me, the me you know here, if you know I will most likely never introduce you to my husband, children or friends? Is it okay that this is my thing? My one place in my life, where it's just about me? Will you still be my friends despite the fact that I'd lie to a random stranger about being on Twitter, because it keeps the peace in my life?

The lines are blurry. I've let them get blurry, because I consider you guys my friends. True, real, friends. No question about that. But the blurriness scares me.

What I wouldn't give for a full nights sleep

I have never been a um well...sleeper. Good isn't even a word I'd use in the same sentence as sleep. Not as it pertains to me at least. These days, I am getting very little sleep. I would love to blame it all on Harrison, since he isn't sleeping that much either, especially this week as he's been sick, but it's not just him.

Besides I've been there with the teething baby thing twice before. One day, they all learn to sleep. One day they stop waking up at night wanting to be cuddled by mama only. That day comes sooner than most people think and in the moment, I don't mind the quiet moments in the middle of the night with him. He is a ball of movement in the day time, trying to get anything in the house he shouldn't have, trying to chase down his sisters or the dog. At night, he is that tiny boy baby again. The one who wants nothing more than to cuddle up to me, lay with his face in my neck, breathing warm baby breath on me.

Oh heck, where was I? Ah, yes, so Harrison is not the source of my not sleeping, or at least not all of it. I have trouble falling asleep, i always have. Can't tell you why, I've never known, I've just always had trouble falling asleep. It's genetic, this I know. My mom has and my grandpa had this same problem.

So i lay there at night and eventually manage to turn my brain off and fall asleep. Sometimes it takes an hour, sometimes three, depends on the night. Then the boy wakes up, sometimes once, lately like three times a night. Since Logan has to get up and go to work early in the morning, the late night stuff is left to me.

To be fair, Harrison is in a total mama phase right now. The times when Logan has gone in at night, Harrison just screams bloody murder and tries to beat his daddy up, till I eventually go in and rescue him from the horribleness that is someone besides me .

for some reason, when i go back to bed after Harrison does, I am very able to go back to bed. Till the nightmares start. I try to not watch anything scary right before I go to bed. I'm not even talking scary movies, because I never watch those. More like the CSI, Saving Grace, anything good type of TV shows. We record Whose Line Is IT Anyway, Two and a Half Men and The Big Bang Theory and before I go to bed, I always try and watch one of those.

It works some night and not others. Of course it does nothing for the BlogHer nightmares.

I'm not sure why I have nightmares. I have periodically throughout my life. Mostly though it had to do with something I watched on TV. When I was eight, I saw the Bad Seed on TV somehow by accident and I didn't sleep for a week. At twelve, I saw a made for TV movie about a family with three hemophiliac boys, one of whom died of AID's. Even though I knew an amazing man (my brother's godfather) who died of AID's before that time, the thought of a little boy dying gave me nightmares.

Right now, it's every night. It's gotten old actually. I need some sleep. I'd kill for a good night's sleep right now. I've even gone so far as to consider getting a hotel room for a night this weekend, just for me and Logan and seeing if his Aunt would keep all the kids, just so I could sleep for a night.

Can I buy sleep? Anyone know? Does Amazon carry that?

ps. Yes, I've tried every, single homeopathic type of thing known to man. No need to ask, because the answer will be, yes I have and no it doesn't do a dam thing. Yes, I do have sleeping pills which I take most nights. Still, I am in a non-sleeping phase. There will at some point come a sleeping better phase, as there always does. Here's hoping it comes soon.

Hi, I'm Issa. Wanna know how weird I am?

Undomestic Diva, Marinka and Anymommy have all posted in the last few weeks different versions of things we should know about them before BlogHer. Basically what I learned from their lists is, they are all way cooler than me. However, it has made me start to think about the things you should all possibly know about me.

Seeing as how I've already started having nightmares about BlogHer, I might as well get it all out in the open. Then at least you will all be pre-warned.

First of all, hi, I'm Issa. *waves* I know you all know that, but what people always ask is, how do I pronounce Issa. Well see my name is actually Melissa. Which I will totally answer too. So Issa is a nick name for Melissa, because my best friend James, couldn't say Melissa when we were toddlers. Issa is Melissa without the Mel. (Try and call me Mel and you die. Am not kidding. I don't find it funny and I DESPISE it. Try it more than once and I will most likely not speak to you any more.) There is no E sound in Issa. Basically think of it this way, it's Lissa without the L. Got it? Please, don't worry about screwing it up. Because honestly, I am probably going to look at you and go, and your Twitter/Blog Name is what again? Just ask, I promise I don't bite and I'll say Issa for you.

Now that we got that out of the way.....

1. I won't know any of you, unless you walk around with a picture of your Twitter avatar and your Twitter name attached to your head. Please help me out with your name, okay? I promise I want to meet everyone, so if you see me, hear my name, whatever, please come and say hi.

2. I am not a friendly person in the AM, until I've had coffee. I will make sure I find a Starbucks, this isn't a concern of mine. I can smell any Starbucks in a three mile radius. But you have been warned.

3. I do not drink much at all. I am a big talker when it comes to drinking. A glass of wine is more than enough for me. When I say I've had a lot to drink on twitter, it means I've had two glasses. However, once I've had a drink, I am much more calm in social situations. Like, hai, I can talk to you now. Cause I iz drunk.

4. My hair is not awesome, I may or may not re-color it before the conference, so you may see some grays. I don't have brand new clothes and my purse is four years old. But? I smell nice and my toes will be pretty. I'm just not that girly enough to worry about the rest of it. So rest assured, the rest of you who will be wearing tank tops and capri's, you will fit in with me.

5. I don't talk about politics or religion. It's not that I don't have opinions, because believe me I do. But I like to keep the peace, so I tend to steer very far away from these subjects.

6. I am not a huge talker until I feel comfortable around you and then I never shut up.

7. I truly am scared shit less about this Keynote thing. Even more so, since I realized they RECORD it. Like with a camera, so the whole world can see it later. I know some of you don't want to hear about it anymore. I got picked, you didn't. And for that, I'm sorry. But I is skerred. Unless Matthew really wears a G-String in the audience like he promised me on Saturday night, I may be nervous until the dam thing is over. Excited and honored, but nervous.

8. I don't like Peas. Or mushrooms. Or eggplant. Or curry.

9. I play confident on the Internet. I appear to be much more confident in real life than I really am. Much saner, much more easy going. This is a good thing in some ways and in other ways it is an albatross. Because when I come home and say, I was a complete spaz, I was scared of everything and I'm pretty sure I offended twelve people, you will all think I am insane. Issa appears saner in person than she really is. Maybe that should be my new tagline. If you don't believe me, ask Maura and Insta-mom. They've met me.

10. I say dude as often in real life as I type it. I say seriously more often than I type it. I possibly need to learn some new words.

11. I will yawn the whole time I am there. It's not you and let me apologize in advance for yawning mid-sentence. I don't sleep well in general and I won't sleep well there, because I won't be at home. It's just how it is.

12. I have a ton of people I want to meet. Some who I've "known" for years. I have no pre-conceived notions that I will get to do more than say hi to most of them. But I really hope I can say hi. I have tons of you who I want to hang out with. I hope to god I can remember who all of you are and that I don't hide in a closet for too long and we get to hang out. One thing I've seen from previous years is, BlogHer is what you make of it. I? Plan to have a blast.


To those of you not going, I know this gets tiring, hearing about BlogHer all the time. Trust me, I've been you. For years in fact, since the 2006 conference where everyone I knew went. Just remember in a few weeks it will all be over. Also, I will still adore you all after the conference. I promise. Also, I'll miss you all. Swearz.

Not complaining

Last night I wrote a post where I basically complained about everything. It felt kind of nice to write it down. Get it out, if that makes any sense. Although this morning, I'm glad I didn't post it. Not because you guys can't handle it, not because I didn't need to complain about petty nonsense last night, but mostly because this blog has become so depressing that I'm just thinking that it would have made it worse.

I'm trying. Trying to get it together. Trying to not be so pessimistic all the time. Trying to not be depressed. Trying to not be this complainy (yes, is word), whiney, pain in the ass that I have become lately.

It's not really working for me so well. But at least I'm working on it.

Instead of whining about things that really don't matter outside of my head, I thought I'd give positivity a try. See how it works for me today. No guarantees on tomorrow, but it's worth a shot today.

I love the 4th of July weekend. My husband won't be working for three whole days. (Truly, I am forgetting what the man looks like, he works so much these days.) We have BBQ's to go too, swimming to do and tons of great food to eat. I adore fireworks, now that Bailey has stopped being terrified of them.

I found the business cards I am going to get for BlogHer. They are cute and I loves them.

My excitement of BlogHer is starting to out way my fear of it.

Harrison is cute and fun and the best baby I could ever hope to have. Nine months, really is a fun, if not a bit exhausting age. Although his idea of morning being 5am, needs a bit of work.

Bailey is almost five and while it makes me sad, I see the big girl she is becoming and it's awesome. She's awesome. The funniest, most honest baby girl I could ever hope to have.

Morgan has decided that she likes clean clothes enough to help me with laundry. Have I told you she's my favorite today? She is. At least in this moment, when she's being so dam helpful. Seven is an awesome age.

I love the Internet. Well I love you guys. Yes there are haters, trolls and asshats. But real life has them too. But you guys keep me entertained on a daily basis and I adore each of you for it.

Oh one more thing, my friend, the lovely Anymommy, had a beautiful baby boy on Sunday. Nathaniel. He's big and squishy and absolutely adorable. He has red hair!!! Squee. Please go and congratulate her.

So, how'd I do? LOL. Don't need to answer that. Is okay.

The good enough mother

I have read about this whole good mother/bad mother/SAHM/WAHM/WOHM thing for weeks now on the Internet. Some of you have discussed it and beautifully, I might add. It all fascinates me, this thought of what a good mother is supposed to be. I've pretty much ignored it, because honestly, I know I am a good mom. I also know I am a bad mom. In my world you can be both.

Today, after reading Mom 101's post about type B mom's, I can't seem to get this subject out of my head. I said this in Liz's comments and it is completely true: On my best day, I am only a B- mother.

But who says that is a bad thing? What makes a mom a perfect mom? Whose opinion matters about that, except your children's? We all think we are being judged and sometimes we are. I know I've been judged, many a time. However, I'm sure I think I am being judged way more than I probably am. Maybe a B- mom isn't such a horrible thing.

We all share on the Internet what we want too. This was something that Mom 101 was saying in her post. We tell each other what we choose to tell each other. Some are more honest than others. We are given a glimpse at each others lives, because we choose to share about it in this public space. It's only part of the story really. A small part for most of us.

Let me try this honesty thing for a second.

I, for the record, have never breastfed my children. Not because I see anything wrong with it (in fact, I find it to be beautiful), but because it wasn't something I felt I could do. I was a young mother, maybe that has something to do with it, maybe not. It just wasn't something I choose to do.

I sent my daughters to daycare at seven weeks old. I worked fourteen hour days sometimes in the early years of their lives. I know what it's like to work full time and wish I was at home with my kids. I also now know what it's like to be at home all the bloody time and wish I was elsewhere. I'm not sure that I'm good at either of it honestly.

My kids watch too much TV; they eat too much junk food; I consider french toast a dinner**; my son hangs out playing with spoons and Tupperware lids on my bed, while I play on the Internet; and some days I go and buy everyone new underwear, just because I don't want to do laundry.

My kids have ridden their bikes without a helmet a time or two because I got tired of the argument. They have gotten sunburned a few times because I was dumb enough to not put sunscreen on them. We do not have a safety net around our trampoline. I have yelled at them for having meltdowns and then realized I don't remember the last time they ate. My kids are not friendly when hungry, much less logical.

Somedays I yell at them, because of nothing. I regret those days. Other times they need to be yelled at and I let it go, to try and make up for the days where I yell too much.

My seven year old has way too much knowledge of the Internet and how to use it. My almost five year old can take the parental restriction off of the cable, without even trying. They both have iPods. They know what the menus at most restaurants have on them without needing to look anymore.

My girls are the most unscheduled kids in the neighborhood. In fact the only thing they've been scheduled for this summer is swimming and last week, they told me they just wanted to be able to just swim, not learn anything. So? I took them off of the list for the next set of lessons. There is no ballet, no gymnastics and no t-ball this summer. I should do those things, I am sure, but I just can't seem to make myself sign them up, because truly, then I'd have to get out of the house and take them.

I worry about all of this and much, much more. I wonder what my kids will remember from this time period of their lives. If they will remember that I took them to Disney and the beach this summer; that we slept in, stayed up late and went to the park every few evenings to swing in the dark. Will they remember me reading Harry Potter to them each night? Will they remember Sunday mornings spent in Jammies, having wii bowling and golf tournaments? Or will they remember that this was another summer where I was short with them too often, where I cried too much, where I sent them outside to play too often.

I wonder if they spend too much time at my BFF Kate's house. I wonder if they will one day prefer her, because she is that mom. The mom who does art projects. The mom who bakes things. The mom with all the patience of a saint. I am not that mom, although I adore that she is. I am thankful for her every single day. Is it okay that my kids spend so much time with my best friend? It has to be, because that's the way it is right now.

There is no rule book. They didn't come with an instruction manual. Trust me, I looked. And who says a B- mom is not enough? Who gets to make that judgement call? Who says a C mom isn't good enough? Because lots of days, I am only a C mom. A solid C even, no plus sign attached.

Some days I think my kids are the amazing people they are despite me. Some days I think it might be in spite of me. On occasion I think, dam I am doing something right.

My girls are kind to friends, strangers, animals and especially their family. They think highly of themselves and each other. Self esteem: they both have it. Self doubt? Yes, they have that too, but a lot less then I did at their ages. They are honest, strong, brave and inquisitive. They are everything I could of hoped for in daughters and everything I hope their brother gets too.

We all have days where we think we are horrible at this parenting gig, right? Those who say other wise are lying threw their over whitened teeth.

I? Am a good mother and also a bad mother. Maybe, I am the good enough mother. But that has to be okay too.


** Okay, here is another thing. We say things on the Internet, then realize that even in a post where we are being brutally honest, we choose to fib a bit. The truth is, my dinner default idea is currently cereal. I stole the french toast thing from my lovely friend Liz (also know as @elizzieh), because it sounded better than saying my family currently lives on cereal. French toast is actually her default dinner, not mine. Liz, who I have to thank for um everything, was kind enough to read this and not yell at me about stealing her idea. In fact had I not brought it up, she is so awesome, that she may never have said a word. See? This honesty thing is hard.

For Meghan

The lovely and amazing Meghan at AMomTwoBoys has this amazing ability to be there for the for the entire Internet. If you see that something was planned in the blogging world for someone in need, she generally has her hand in it. She runs like seventeen (am possibly counting wrong) websites. She is the shit. In a good way. The best way in fact. She is sweet and funny and the kind of friend, we should all be lucky enough to have. I adore her. So today I thought I'd see if I could maybe help her in some small way.





That beautiful boy up there is Meghan's son Zach (isn't he freaking adorable? I want to eat him up), who is having surgery on both of his eyes on Monday. It is a routine surgery, I mean if you are an eye surgeon. But it is scary. Meghan is scared, as all of us would be. The thought of having someone put your 22 month old baby under to do anything to them is scary, every parent knows that. But after what happened to Maddie, Meghan (and all of us) know that nothing in life is certain. Now it's even scarier than it would have been.

I can't tell Meghan not to be scared. If I thought it would help, I'd tell her a million times, but I know it wouldn't work and it just make her want to kick me at BlogHer. I can't tell her I wouldn't be scared, because I would be. I can tell her that Zach will be fine, great even, but I can't promise her. And unfortunately because I've never actually met the woman and I live oh about 1,200 miles away, it's not like I can give her a hug and some wine and tell her it's gonna be okay.

I thought I'd do the next best thing, I'd write a whole post for her.

And maybe, just maybe, this will help in some small way. Because here's the deal: I've had this surgery. The exact same surgery that Zach is having on Monday. On both eyes.

I was three months the first time my parents took me to an eye specialist. They knew that by then, I shouldn't be looking at my nose all the dang time. That doctor, told my parents I'd never see and that I couldn't be helped. My dad was livid and called a friend of his whose dad was a surgeon, who directed them to an eye surgeon at UCLA. This guy told my parents he could help. By nine months old, I was wearing an eye patch. Little baby pirate Issa. Basically the muscles in my eyes didn't really work, or as I like to say, they were lazy and bored. The eye patch was supposed to help strengthen one eye, make it work, because it wasn't doing a darn thing, except staring at my nose all the time. The other eye was better, but not great. I wore the patch for months, but it didn't really help anything.

Then they tried glasses. The cutest little glasses anyone has ever had. I had glasses from fourteen months old, on. They thought I wouldn't keep them on, that I'd always want them off. But you know? When you can one day see after most likely not being able too, I guess you decide you kinda like that, even as a toddler.

The glasses helped, but it wasn't a long term solution. They had to do surgery. Back then, which was in 1983, they waited until you were three to do this surgery. The theory was, maybe your eye muscles would suddenly learn to work in that time frame. Which sounds funny to me now, but whatever. So I was about three years old and a week when I had the surgery.

I remember it. Not the surgery obviously, but the before and after. I remember walking into the hospital with my parents. I remember putting on a little gown; drinking some grape tasting syrup and watching some Wiley E. Coyote on TV. Then I remember being pissed off at my mom because she wouldn't give me any juice. That was after. That's it, that's all I remember. Well that and getting to pick out a stuffed animal in the gift shop on the way out. Oh and needing to wear sunglasses any time I was outside for a few weeks afterwards.

To me it was simple and no big deal. That's not however what my mom would say. She was scared, as any mother would be. But you know, I was three.

Without the surgery as a child, I am sure I would not be able to see very well. I have been told this by every single eye specialist I have seen as an adult. I would not be able to drive, see the words on this computer screen or be able to tell you each line, freckle and dimple on my children's faces. That surgery changed my life. One guy called it a miracle that I could see at all.

Meghan, I know this doesn't really help you. It doesn't take away the fear. But I can't do that. You know I would if I could. The only thing that will do that, is it being over and you taking him home. This I know.

Also for you, I am putting up pictures. Pictures of me as a child. The before and after shots. Just so you can see the difference. A few show how bad my right eye was. A couple of my rad glasses, when I was fifteen months old and one from a few years after so you can see how straight my eyes were/are. Ignore the large 80's glasses in the last one. My mother swears I picked them out myself. After the surgery I didn't have to wear glasses until I was seven years old. But my vision is bad as well as the muscles being bad and I've worn glasses every since. I don't really know any different, so it's not a big deal to me. Most of the time, you can't see any difference in my eyes, except that my right eyelid is a tiny bit lower than the left. Also, when I am extremly tired, my right eye still gets a bit lazy and looks at my nose.

But just know my friend, that my heart and prayers will be with you until it's done and you are taking Zach home on Monday after the surgery. In fact, this post will stay up here until that time as well. For you and for Zach.

FYI - All photos of me were scanned out of a scrapbook my mom made. Quality is iffy. The worse eye one is the second pic. Click on it for a close up. Truly it was bad.

The photos of Zach were stolen, with permission, from Meghan.

Nine Months

Bubs,

This morning your sister Morgan came and woke me up at 7:36am. I was shocked that you had been so kind as to sleep in that long. No such luck buddy. Although your sister was kind enough to let me sleep, as she'd gone in and gotten you and given you a bottle and basically followed you around for an hour. Today she is my hero and I paid her accordingly.

Of course, I ignored the fact that she came to get me, because she was tired of you, but whatever. She's seven, so I'm just glad she was willing to play with you for an hour. She super-dup loves you. You and she were both alive and you hadn't managed to completely destroy the house, so that was a plus.

Darling boy of mine, you are very destructive. Your sisters were too, but in way different ways. Given 22 seconds, you will completely destroy a plant. You overturn the dogs food and water bowl if given any unsupervised second in the kitchen. You can take every book off of a shelf in less than a minute and I've yet to find a way to keep you out of the DVD's. Don't think you don't have toys, because you have dozens. You just seem to find them all extremely boring, save for two matchbox cars of Aidan's, that you crash into each other all the time. Oooommmm you say, as you crash them into each other. I assume this is boom crash, which is what Aidan says all the time. You also think Tupperware and plastic spoons are the best thing ever invented. And remotes, which I swear to god you must be baby Houdini, because no matter where we put them, you can find them and take the batteries out before I even know what you've got.

You are all boy. We have, in the last few weeks given you an official, Baby Transformer Name, which is Destructor. It fits. Perfectly.

You stand against the couch, pulling yourself up by your fat baby fingers, but haven't tried to walk at all. Thank freaking god, because I am not used to the crawling thing, which you've been doing for months, so walking is out of the question. Don't do it.

You have like a gazillion teeth, or nine, but who's counting? They all seem to have come in at once and sleeping has been an issue the past month. You will eat just about anything. Baby food is becoming lame, you prefer real food. But you aren't that picky, you just want it now. In fact, you wanted it three minutes ago. You also eat pretty much anything you find on the floor and I'd like to tell you this makes me sweep more, but it just doesn't. Son, you are the third kid. Enjoy the carpet fuzz. Sorry about that, but mama doesn't think it's a big deal anymore.

In the past month, you have found your voice. Meaning you screech all the time. Then you laugh at yourself, because you? Are the funniest guy you know. Then you look around to see where your cheering squad is, because you are used to having someone clap for you. I fear for your preschool teachers one day.

You have also started talking. We had this conversation this morning:

Me: Bubs what does a duck say? You: kak kak

Me: What does a doggie say: You: OOOFFFFFF (You screech this, most likely because our dog is extremely loud.)

Me: You're right. Yay you. But shhhhh baby, inside voice. You: chhhhhhhhhhh

Me: Exactly. Now, what does a moo cow say. You: ooooooooooohhhhhhhhhh

Me: Bubby can you say milk? You: ik

Me: Close enough. How about ball, can you say ball? You: ball. (This was your first word by the way, after dada.)

Me: Can you say more? You: *gives me the sign for more.*

Me: How about daddy, can you say daddy? You: dadadadadadadada *does a little happy dance*

Me: Yay. Where is daddy? You: bye bye. *waves at yourself*

Me: Silly baby. How about mama, can you say mama? You: dadadadada

And this, my son, is what we do every single day. I always throw in new words, just to see how you try to say it. You can say mama. You say it when you are hurt, sick, extremely tired and at 3am when you don't want dada. But when asked, you will never say mama to me. This is what I'd like you to work on for the next month. It's your tiny baby goal, okay?

Baby boy, you are an absolute joy. Know this forever, that no matter how bad my life may be for me in the moment, or how sad I might be, you light up my world. Every second of every day, I adore you.

Love, mama